


Batshit Crazy Bitches In Love

by BWaves (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Lube, Choking, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mutilation, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Stabbing, Suicidal Thoughts, death kink, immortal character, john gets his tongue cut out, tongue cut out, tongue removal, twin captors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/BWaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is immortal and gets off on being killed and Bro is a murderer who indulges him very frequently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Gets Weirder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know this is like crazy weird.  
> But like.  
> The entire point of this story: so that I can write literally the MOST DEPRAVED and MOST DISGUSTINGLY DISTURBING smut that I possibly can.  
> And the two fuckers even actually fall in love and shit, so it's not just plot-less smut happening round the fucking clock.  
> But yeah.  
> SO ENJOY THIS  
> If you're into that kind of shit, that is.  
> I mean srsly, I have some FUCKED UP SHIT planned for these two lunatics.

It's hard to put your brain into words, because you can go from completely rational thought processes, to using shapes to describe how something tastes, or smells. You sometime describe something as tasting orange to your friends and they think you're crazy, but the color has a taste and whatever your eating just happens to taste like that color.

Naturally, however, you are capable of rational thoughts, such as thinking something tastes spicy, or sweet. When you describe this you are normal. You sound normal.

Sometimes they mix. There are different kinds of spicy, such as round, or triangular. Sweets can be anything from square to octagonal.

You were always able to sort through these random ways of thinking until just recently, when you met your best friend's older brother, who thinks the same way. He once used colorful as a descriptor for the smell of cake. When you told him that you thought water tasted round he nodded in understanding before Dave pulled you off to hang out with him instead of his 'super weird older bro, dude he's weird you don't want to hang out with him'.

But at night, when Dave fell asleep you found yourself checking the living room to see if Bro was still awake and he was. Sitting on the couch watching infomercials and focusing on whatever it was he was making. You snuck out of Dave's room, just loud enough that the man heard you, but quiet enough so as not to wake Dave.

He turned to see you and smirked a little before turning his eyes back down to the plush creation in his hands. You asked what it was and he called it a smuppet, whatever that was.

He told you he'd explain it when you were older.

You rolled your eyes and said “I'm eleven, I'm old enough to know stuff.” He laughed and told you to wait a few more years.

When you went to sit next to him on the futon he didn't shoo you off, and he continued with the sewing, opting to ignore you except when you asked random little questions.

He answered all of them without asking why you wanted to know.

You asked him about things you asked your dad about but wouldn't answer and got the answers you wanted.

You asked him about dying and his fingers stopped mid stitch and he turned to look at you oddly, a single blonde eyebrow quirked over the pointed shades perched on his nose and he asked you why you wanted to know.

You tell him about the time when you were seven and you fell and broke your neck. How you were declared dead as soon as someone was there to check. You tell him that you woke up half an hour later crying because your head hurt.

He stares at you like he has witnessed Hell itself and asks you if that really happened and all you manage is a little nod.

You tell him about how you and your dad had to move after that. Because little boys coming back to life was a bad thing. You tell him that you weren't supposed to tell anyone, but you trusted him because he thought a lot like you did.

He tells you about what you are, and why you shouldn't tell anyone about it. He calls you 'immortal' and uses weird words, names a few people and jabs his own fingers with the needle a few times. He curses to himself and looks uncomfortable and you ask him whats wrong.

He tells you not to mention your immortality to Dave and you agree. You hadn't planned on telling him anyways.

 

When you're fifteen you and Dave don't hang out as much as you used to. When you do you notice that Bro makes a point of leaving the apartment when you come into it. Four years after that talk you had with him and he still seems put off by it.

You and Dave talk about what goes on at school. He tells you about this girl, Jade, that he's been dating. You ask him why his brother seems to hate you and he says “Dude, Bro's just weird, don't mind him. Guy's probably just busy, y'know.” But no, you don't know and you let the subject drop

 

When you're seventeen people start turning up dead. All the same way and it becomes announced very quickly that there's a killer out and bout, killing all their victims the same way.

Dave tells you to stay inside and shit, and that he's honestly worried about you, because, as he says; knowing your luck you'd be the next on the list of asswipes to shove off the mortal coil. You make a point of actually seeming worried about being killed, despite the grand two times you've died and returned since you met him.

He still doesn't know.

Your father doesn't bring up the two times he found you hanging form your ceiling fan.

When you're locked in your room alone you try to imagine how terrifying dying must be, for someone who doesn't come back. For someone who knows that if they die now it's the end.

You find yourself thinking deeply about the detailed feelings of knives in your skin, of choking on your own blood. Three wounds. Three perfectly placed wounds for the singular purpose of drowning in your own blood. That's the way the killer is doing it.

The next few weeks you find yourself purposefully staying out late. Promising Dave you'll catch a taxi or something to your house from his apartment and then you walk. The bad parts of town, the parts where you're most likely to be killed.

On these nights you find yourself rapt in the thoughts of death, an uncomfortable blood flow making walking a chore until you have to slip into somewhere inconspicuous to take care of it.

Three weeks after you realize what is bringing on these seemingly random boners you're beginning to lose hope. You're staying out almost too late at night, just hoping someone will deem you weak enough to off. Someone will see you and decide you're an easy target.

You decide to give up. You're going home after three straight hours of walking, and you're done, you're no longer going to try and get murdered, because it's fucking crazy is what it is.

You've done a lot of dumb shit in your seventeen years, but this takes the goddamn cake.

You make it home in, unfortunately, one piece. The light from your dad's office is on and you can hear him typing away in there. You don't go say goodnight.

It's four days later, after binge gaming with Dave until he passed out, that you finally find Bro alone, just like six years ago, watching shit tv and sewing smuppets.

Between last time you had an actual conversation and now; you've looked up what exactly a smuppet is. You're fairly impressed with the versatility of the sex toy, but not particularly excited by the content of his website.

You haven't had much more than shared greetings with Bro since that day when you were eleven, and then you and Dave drifted apart, and then back together, and there have been times you tried to talk to him but nothing came of it. He always had some excuse for leaving. This time, however, you're sure there is none.

So you leave Dave's room, quietly as possible, and sit next to him on the futon. You watch the television for a few minutes before turning to look at him.

“Why do you hate me?” You find yourself asking and you see his fingers stutter. He hadn't expected you to say anything. That or he simply hadn't expected you to say that in particular.

“Don't hate ya.” He mutters, “Just a little freaked out by ya is all.” and he's returned his focus to the doll.

“Why?”

“Not every day I get a kid comin' into my house who says he can't die.”

“I can die.” You say with a huff. “Just not permanently.”

“Exactly.” He says, tying off a thread and breaking it off with his teeth. “'S just weird is all.”

“It gets weirder.” You mumble, smirking, chuckling to yourself. AT yourself for just how much weirder it gets, the level of sick you have become in only the few years since puberty happened and your sex-drive became a thing of fucking wonders.

“How much weirder?” He finally looks at you, setting the puppet aside and meeting your eyes and he looks genuinely curious.

“I have been actively seeking out death.” You say simply. “I walked around the bad parts of town hoping that dude who lets his victims drown in their own blood would find me and make me his next.”

There's a shift. His face twists ever so slightly and he looks utterly shocked by this statement, and he leans back, shaking his head.

“Wait, wha- just- why?” All you can muster is a shrug.

“Because stringing yourself up in your bedroom gets boring?” You try and his face shifts again. But despite these shifts, he is still unreadable. “And I don't know where to stab myself to drown in my own blood, so.”

You watch a hand drift up. He points with two fingers, to three spots, one on your neck, and two on your chest.

You take a moment to realize what he's telling you. You're not sure what possesses your arm but you feel your finger grasp his wrist, stopping him from pulling away from where he was pointing, and you fix your eyes on where your skin meets his.

He's staring at you. Even behind those pointed shades you can feel eyes burning into your knuckles, and then your face and he's staring at you and you finally realize just how weird he really thinks you are.

He's a stoic motherfucker. But with your hand on his wrist you can feel the tense muscles, and you can feel the pulse beating much more quickly than it probably should and it finally dawns on you that this man truly thinks you're a freak.

Something about that makes a wayward chill work its way up your spine and you finally turn up your eyes, meeting his (you think, but the way he flinches makes you sure you have).

“Do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the record show, I actually have no idea what exactly is required for someone to drown in their own blood, I made that stabbing in the three places thing up, I don't actually know, I AM NOT A MURDERER and I didn't want to look it up and come off as a murderer.  
> Also this first time when Bro kills John will be skipped between this chapter and the next, but after this they will be played out.


	2. Bar Scenes Are Overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, yeah, so for those of you not following m on tumblr, or whatever, I found the most perfect song for this story, like I heard it and I got chills it was so perfect you don't even know because you don't know what I have planned but still.
> 
> It's called The Horror Of Our Love by Ludo, I suggest it it's a good song and it fits this story perfecto.

You wake up on the futon, the taste of blood and spunk still lingering on your tongue as the world seems to shift around before falling back into place. You finally are able to breath, and the feeling burns for the first few minutes before it's normal again, and it's as if you never died.

You press shaking fingers to the places on your body where holes once were and you press against the thin scars that are fading as quickly as you were feeling them. You finally sit up, look over the ratty orange cushion and find a single spot of blood. You press a finger to it and watch it fade, wincing ever so slightly at the feel of a pinprick in your finger.

You chance a look around. It's four in the morning and Bro is nowhere to be found.

You honestly want to stop calling him Bro, actually. Now that he's killed you and jizzed down your throat you're pretty sure that should allow you first name privileges.

But you hear no shuffling of feet and the puppet that was abandoned in favor of a sword is nowhere to be seen.

You decide you'll talk to him later, and determine you could go for a shower about now.

You spend the better part of the hour replaying the event over in your head as you let the steaming hot water run over you. You let your mind linger on how good Bro looked covered in your blood, and the tiny little quirk to his mouth that told you he was enjoying it. He liked doing this to you.

You press your fingers to your lips and remember the way his felt in your mouth, keeping you quiet so you wouldn't wake up Dave.

You shudder under the hot stream and hope to every higher being imaginable that he'll do it again.

 

You don't even see Bro again for two more years. You and Dave stopped hanging out when you graduated (he got a scholarship to some school in California or something and took Jade with him) and you moved in with a guy you met through the internet.

You found a group of others, like you. Other immortals, who don't see you as a freak (although your roommate thinks your fetish with being killed is the weirdest thing he has ever fucking heard of). You tend to compare it to like a pet-rescue.

Everything is paid for by this crazy wealthy dude named Scratch, he finds others and gives them places to live. You met Karkat (your roommate) a couple weeks after graduation, and when he figured out you were immortal he immediately took you to see Doc Scratch, and you were honestly surprised you weren't alone.

You've been living with Karkat ever since. You spend a lot of nights away from the apartment, off doing whatever it is you damn well please. Lately it's been sneaking into bars and sitting around people-watching.

You didn't know until you saw him that he was the person you were looking for. Familiar blonde spikey hair, the same lame-ass white collared shirt. And those god-damn pointy shades that you once dreamed were sharp enough to cut you.

Now you're here, with the chance to approach. To speak to the man once more, two years after he killed you. You want him to do it again. Your feel a pinch in your chest and a smile forming on your face. It can't hurt to at least talk to him, right?

But when you finally start moving in his direction there's a girl grabbing his attention and you stop with a sigh. Go figure. She's not even attractive, you think. She's got this horribly orange skin from a spray-tan gone wrong, and her hair is bleached to the point of looking far beyond fake. Everything about her screams fake from her blue contact eyes to her plastic double d's.

You don't stick around to see how that plays out.

When you get back to the apartment Karkat is still awake (for what reason you're not sure) perched on the arm of the couch and typing at his computer.

“You're home early.” He mumbles, his dark brown eyes flicking up to you for only a second before they're back down to the computer. “I'm going to guess you did not get lucky.”

You shake your head a little, shrug and sigh. “I saw the guy.” You mumble and he looks up again, this time more interested.

“The guy? Your friend's older brother?” You nod. He 'huh's in surprise and shrugs, closing his laptop and setting it on the couch behind him. “So why are you telling me this.” He asks, resting his chin in a palm, and quirking an eyebrow over the thin rims of his glasses at you.

You offer another shrug. You're tired. And disappointed. You kind of just want to go to sleep right now.

Karkat stands and sighs, exasperated, at you and comes to stand in front of you. His fingers brush over your hips and he presses his forehead to yours and asks, uncharacteristically quiet, if you are feeling okay.

He's asked this more in the past few weeks than the almost two years you've been living with him. It's nice, you suppose, it's just weird coming from him.

You nod a little and he reaches up a hand to run fingers through your hair. “You should go to sleep.”

Ah. Okay. He wants to play this game. “You're not my dad, Karkat.” is your response and the gentle touch on your head changes. His fingers tighten in your hair and he pulls it hard enough you think you feel some of your hair come out.

“I know.” He mumbles, and goes for your neck, biting hard on the skin and making you whine.

Karkat's rough with you. But he's not rough enough, in your opinion. He holds back a lot and you have expressed to him that you're not going to break, and even if you do break you will come back but he doesn't press hard enough, or bite hard enough. But you don't push him. You don't make him do things he's uncomfortable with.

The sexual aspect of your relationship only developed a few months ago, but it has never been soft touches. From day one you were making each other bleed just because you could.

But when you're lying awake at the end of the latest fling you think about Bro. And you think about dying and you feel bad for the normal people who can't come back from such an overwhelmingly wonderful feeling. Your sleep during the night is quiet, and filled with dreams of your body mutilated by the only person willing to do it for you.

 

You go back to that same bar, the one where you saw him, a number of times over the next week and don't see him. Two weeks with nothing, then three. On the fourth week he walks through the door and takes the same seat as all those weeks ago and you don't wait. You need to go talk to him before someone does it first.

But when you get close enough, barely a foot between you and his back you lift a hand that hesitates to tap his shoulder. It shakes in the midair and you see the cuts from Karkat's nails the night before and your fingers tighten into a fist and you can't.

He's right in front of you, and you want to touch him and you want him to fuck you up in the worst sense of the phrase and you can't bring yourself to do it because you don't know if Karkat knows that you don't see him as more than a person to screw around with.

You've never really cleared up with Karkat just what exactly your relationship is.

And he's the reason you hesitate to tap the white clad shoulder and you sink back away to the wall. You watch from afar as a guy this time, takes up the seat next to him and plays coy and leaves with the guy you've been lusting after for years.

When you get back to the apartment you ask Karkat about what you are doing with him and he laughs when you mention any sort of legitimate relationship, that answers your question and you hate yourself so much more for not talking to him.

 

Three weeks later he's there again and you can't pass it up, you can't let it go again, and you pull your sleeves down to cover the rope burns on your wrists when you start walking toward him, but just your luck there's a hand on your shoulder.

You're turned around by a person who looks far more intoxicated than any human ever really should be, and he smells strongly of green, vodka you think, and he's smiling like a drunk at you. He slurs out a shitty pickup line and you feel your stomach roil at the wave of alcohol-breath that hits you.

You feel intense hatred for this person for just a moment, and it takes four tries, and several more pickup lines before the guy gets the idea that you're not interested.

By the time he's stumbled away to hit on whoever he saw next you're afraid to turn around and see if Bro is still there.

You think he might not be.

But when you turn around he's still sitting there. Staring at you. You swallow whatever words you thought of and turn to face him, to let him know that you're planning on going in his direction, you're trying to send the silent message that you plan on approaching him.

He turns to the bartender, hands the man a bill and leaves.

And you stand there, angry with yourself, and trying to figure out, again, why he seems to hate you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I promise, next chapter.  
> They gon' frick.  
> And it's gonna be bloody.


	3. You Die Like Angels Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fear of death is the most unjustified of all fears, for there's no risk of accident for someone who's dead.  
> \- Albert Einstein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give you an idea of how fucked up this chapter is, I had to type in the google search bar 'is blood a viable lube substitute' (it's not) and repeatedly whispered 'I am a writer, I am a writer, I am a writer' as I did so. So y'know. Have fun with this.

Leaving the bar not five minutes later had you feeling deflated. You're sure he'd been looking right at you. Maybe.

Maybe he hadn't seen you?

Fuck.

You fist your hair and sigh loudly to yourself, wishing he weren't wearing those stupid fucking shades. Wishing you had been able to tell where exactly he had been looking. But you could wish in one hand a bleed in the other, and you know which one would fill up faster. You curse yourself as you walk.

And as cliché as it was, you felt like someone was watching you. You felt like eyes were raking over your back, and the thought coaxes you into slowing your walk from the bar. You hesitate past alleyways, slowing your gait to something relaxed and natural seeming. There was no one around, at least no one that you saw.

You hope this isn't just a feeling. You hope this is real, you hope that there are eyes, someone seeing you as their prey, a predator preparing to strike and you find in your mind a hope that it is Bro.

You imagine what he'd do to you if he caught you off guard. You try to think of all the things you want him to do to you and you realize just how totally messed up in the head you are.

Heaven forbid you be into something normal. Like bondage. Or... Breathplay. Sexy choking? Shit, you don't know. You have to be into someone holding your life in their hands. You're fucking crazy. But at least you have accepted it. Maybe now that you've accepted it you'll be able to get over it.

Maybe you can talk to Karkat again and turn your fucking around into something legitimate.

You don't know.

You don't know anything and you come to a stop in your walking and just stare at the ground and wonder what the ever loving fuck went wrong that turned you into this.

You hate not knowing.

You hate a lot of things.

You make an aggravated noise, carding agitated fingers through your hair and consciously forcing yourself to breathe. Don't get overwhelmed or _it_ will happen again.

You hate it when that happens.

So you take a deep breath, you relax, because there's nothing you can do about it right now. Perhaps in a few weeks you'll get to try again. Perhaps you'll see him again, and you'll be able to talk to him.

You calm yourself with thoughts like this, and continue on. Walking forward for a grand four steps before strong fingers grab, twist into and pull hard on your hair.

The noise of shock you make is comparable to a yelp, and your hands fly back, grabbing onto the arm attached to the hand currently attached to your head.

You're going to scream, you're going to protest because you don't know who this stranger is but you don't want them touching you and you want them to let go, but every protest dies in your mouth as warm words are breathed into your ear.

“I want to hear all the sounds you can make. Now that we don't have to worry about waking up Dave.”

You feel your limbs loosen, and you relax your grip on his arm. You hear a high pitch whine leave you without meaning to make the noise and he pulls hard, pulling you away from the sidewalk and forcing you to walk ahead of him down one alley and then another and another before he decides this is a good enough place and shoves your face into the wall hard enough to make your cheek raw and your jaw pops with the pressure.

You're a mess, and putty in his hands before he's even pressed his own body against yours, finally releasing your hair and opting for your neck instead. Your bones crack under his grip, like one pops their own knuckles. Nothing too painful, but each and every crack makes you flinch in surprise at the sudden sensation.

“Bro,” You gasp, reaching a hand back and it finds his leg, gripping hard, nails digging in as best as they can through the denim of his jeans. “Holy shit, I thought you didn't see me.” You whisper, harsh, and he chuckles against your ear, thrusting his hips hard against your ass and shoving you painfully into the bricks in front of you.

“'Course I saw you.” He mumbles, moving, the hand trails from your neck to your lower back where you feel something sharp press against the skin. “Looked right at ya, didn't ya see?” You nod quickly, and open your mouth to respond but his fingers beat you to it. He tsks you, grabs your tongue between two fingers and asks you if he can cut it off.

You nod quickly again, at least, to the best of your abilities, considering his hand in your mouth. The one on your lower back moves, leaving your back and coming up to your head, pulling you away from the wall he forces you to look down, toward the ground.

The other hand goes to your jeans, and begins to undo them, pulling them down as far as he's willing to put the effort into (mid-thigh) and he presses his still jean clad hips against the bare skin of your ass.

He's already hard under all that, and you wonder if he was thinking about all the same things you were. Your mind races and you whimper around his fingers as he feels you. Feels you in places he didn't touch last time, and his hand grabs and squeezes the flesh of your ass. He puts enough space between you to slap it, once and hard, making you groan in pain, before he's pressing against you again.

He grabs your arm, leans back slightly, and twist your limb into an awkward position, right in front of his crotch and he barks the commend to undo the fastenings and you obey.

How could you not?

It's a struggle, but he eventually decides you've done enough and he releases your arm, allowing you to press your palm to the wall, bracing yourself for whatever is going to happen next.

You feel him against you. Bare and flesh on flesh and you vaguely remember how he tasted around the blood and you begin to lick and suck at his fingers, desperate for his approval. Desperate to please him.

His fingers find your entrance, press, and you can practically feel the wheels in his head turning as he mumbles, almost off-handedly, to himself that he doesn't have any lube. You feel the fingers around your tongue tighten and you know what he's going to do and before you even feel the hand pull away, or hear the blade drag against the wall you moan because you know what's going on in this man's head.

His fingers leave your mouth now, and you are finally aware of the spit on your chin from being unable to close your mouth. He pinches the end between his thumb and pointer and kisses your neck.

He tells you you're a good boy, that you're going to feel so fucking good around his dick and you want to and you don't know why you're so desperate for him all of a sudden but you're not going to turn him down.

It's quick, The flash of metal just barely is in your vision before your mouth explodes in pain and you shriek the best you can as the muscle falls from it's place and hits the ground.

His fingers are back in your mouth, which is very quickly draining blood and more blood and so so much blood. You can't taste it as much, which is a bit disappointing, but his hand leaves your mouth, returning to your entrance and he presses with blood slicked fingers.

You feel the pain as he skips straight to two, thrusting and stretching quickly, and you know why. If he waits too long, if this takes too long, the blood will congeal and not be slick anymore.

A strange noise bubbles up in the back of your throat as his fingers come back to your mouth for more. You watch, fascinated as it drips to the ground and you make the helpless noises you're capable of making without a tongue as he scissors, stretches, adds a third, scoops more off your chin, and out of your mouth, running his fingers over your teeth and goes back. You feel like if you listened you could hear the rhythm of his work, before he seems to deem you ready and shoves his fingers into your mouth one last time.

You tilt your head, it feels light, and your fingers feel fuzzy, and watch him spread the red on himself, press against you. He says something. You don't catch it. You pant, it's basically all you can do, you whine and he seems to get the message, thrusting in. He stops halfway, pausing as you finish your squeal. You make enough noise to wake the neighbors.

You can't communicate the message that he needs to hurry before you die of blood loss, but shoving back against him seems to get the message across. He reaches around and grabs you, squeezing harder than is really comfortable, and begins up a pace.

It starts surprisingly slow. Not gentle. Each thrust is hard, but they're spaced out just enough to be called slow and you moan in time, finally sitting your head back up straight.

You keep your hands against the wall as he picks up speed faster and faster as the edges of your senses fade and you begin to lose the feelings in your hands.

He finally hits that spot, that makes you cry out, and he aims for it. Makes a point of hitting that one and only spot as you start coughing on the blood still pouring out of your tongue.

He presses his nose against your neck, leans up and bites onto your ear, hard, and you hear him moan something against you, but it's all nonsense, and you need to come, you're going to come and you need to tell him this somehow.

You make as much noise as you're aware you can, and move with him, thrusting into the hand in front of you and meeting the thrusts coming from behind and you throw your head down, coughing and letting the blood spill from your mouth.

You want to cry out his name, you want everyone within miles to know how much you're enjoying this, how much of a freak the both of you are, but you can't and all you can manage is a high pitch 'Bo' that communicates what you need to say.

He growls against your ear. Barks orders at you and you're only able to make out the order to come, and come all over the wall, and leave behind the evidence of your sick twisted pleasure, he tells you to come all over his hand and you do. God fucking dammit you do and the noise you make is inhuman.

You hear your name somewhere in all the haze in your mind and it fades, in and out, and you feel warmth in your insides. Warmth because he came inside you and as a final thought, it makes you moan a mutilated excuse for his title.

You're vaguely aware of the feeling of him pulling out of you and letting you fall to the ground before it all fades to a pleasant fuzziness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did my research for this one.  
> And lemme tell ya  
> I got so fucking nauseous just looking up if cutting off a tongue would kill someone.  
> Certainly bled enough for it's purpose but eeueuuughghgheu
> 
> Also, I know I said blood is not a viable lube substitute, but Bro doesn't care and considering the factors that determined it's viability, I decided I would fudge the details this time. For the sake of porn.


	4. Morning-After Routines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters that I.... Really don't know what to say? Like this chapter is so much filler I can't even stand it, but the next one should be pretty interesting. Next one we get to meet Scratch and Sollux and Mituna. So the next one should be p interesting. Sollux and Mituna are actually twins in this one, just because of reasons, and they fight a lot and kill each other a lot and they're just kind of fun to write in this universe pfft. (They're also eight so yknow, eight year old insults ahaha)

The world comes back in bits and pieces.

First you become aware of the noises around you. The soft shuffling of fabric over skin, and fabric over fabric, the creak of metal under weight.

You can feel fingers tracing your cheeks and your lips and you feel an arm draped over your side and warmth radiates from the body you realize is next to yours.

You lick your lips. Tongue feels numb, but you feel it trace the skin as you open your eyes and you see bright orange looking at you and it makes you smile.

He just stares at you for a while. Before his fingers leave your face and he props himself up with the arm and just stares at you.

You lay still, on the futon you haven't been on in years, and watch him stare at you, blinking tiredly and sighing loudly and just-woke-up. There's a long silence, where you stare, his eyes shift from you, to anything but you, and back again before he finally breaks the silence.

“You want somethin' to eat?”

“No.”

The silence goes on again. It's creeping into awkward territory. You should do something about it.

You feel a tickle in your throat, cough slightly and roll over, stretching an listening to your neck and spine pop in various places and it feels nice. You finally relax again and decide it's about time to break the silence.

“What's your name?”

“Not tellin' ya.”

“Considering our history I think I have a right to know.”

“Considering our history I think it's best you don't.”

The silence falls again. You sit up, and stare at him. He's being stubborn. “Why?”

All he does now is look to you, annoyance clear in his eyes. You're not backing down though.

“I should take you home.” Is what he says next and you throw your hands into the air.

“I don't want to go home!” You snap. “If I go home Karkat's gonna get all freaky worried and shit and be all 'bluh bluh bluh John where were you' and 'I had a boner for like an hour and you weren't there to fix it you asshat' and I'm not in the mood for it.” You shake your head. “Not in the mood.” You sit up, feel blood rush to your head to quickly and immediately lay back down. “Nope!”

“Are you hungry or what?” He asks again and you press your hands over your face. You nod. You just feel tired, but maybe food will help. “Anything in particular?” You shake your head. “Cereal's pretty much all I got.” You nod. “Alright. Cool.” And you feel the cushion shift, he leaves, and you lay there for a few minutes before sitting up again, slower this time. You can't see much without your glasses, but there's a blurry little spot on the floor that vaguely looks like them.

Lucky you, it turns out they are, and when you put them on the world becomes sharper, and makes more sense. You watch Bro walk around the kitchen space, and pour cereal. He moves almost clumsily. Like he's tired. He probably is.

You toy with the thought of him carrying you here. Carrying your dead body however far it is from the bar. You wonder if he used the same sword to cut your tongue out that he stabbed you with two years ago.

You look around the large room that makes up the living space and kitchen area, and then to the door that Dave's room used to be through. You wonder what's in there now.

You wonder if Bro sleeps in there now.

Your attention snaps to the bowl of cereal shoved in your face and you take it with a small thanks. He sits next to you and begins to shovel spoonfuls of cheerios into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days.

You eat slower, but you watch him. Your eyes are stuck to him because for some unfathomable reason, when he saw you at the bar, he followed you and had his way with you. Any sane person would have run away. Any sane person would have turned you down the first time you asked, or denied it ever happened and when he finishes his cereal his eyes meet yours again.

You were never good at the whole 'morning-after' routine. You and Karkat avoided it. Pretending it never happened.

It always worked, but you didn't want to pretend it never happened.

Neither of you are particularly sane.

“So...” You start, and then stop, and then think of how to continue.

“So.” He says in return, and his eyes go back to the cereal, his spoon idly guiding the contents of the bowl around in circles.

Silence.

God this is going so horribly. You feel sorry for anyone who would have to be witness to this event.

“I won't tell Dave if you won't.” He finally says, and looks up at you again. “About the sex part. We're already in agreement that the immortal thing stay on the down low.” This sounds like... A shared secret, that would be lasting much longer than merely one night. But you have to ask just in case.

“Does that mean we can do it again?” You say. “Or do I have to hold this over your head as blackmail?”

“I was gonna say yes, provided you were up for it, but if you put it that way-”

“No! I mean- yeah, I want to keep doing it but I mean. The blackmail thing. That wasn't serious.” Your voice tapers off after you realize just how eager you sounded to right the wrong. Your mouth sort of opens and closes a few times before you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Good. Because I have ideas.” The grin he shoots you makes you feel like your bones are going to melt. This will either be wonderful, or you're going to hate yourself in a few weeks. Although you're honestly not sure if you would care either way.

“Next time no public places. Sitting next to a dead body and waiting for it to absorb all its parts in an alley in downtown Houston is weird as shit, and seriously dangerous." You nod in agreement. Had timing been wrong someone could have stumbled across the two of you. Or him, technically, and seen your body and the blood on him and yeah that would have been bad.

Especially considering the purpose the blood had served. And the blood stains on certain areas of certain people.

Which reminds you.

“Why did you stop talking to me after the first time?” The hand that was on your shoulder stiffens, drifts back to the spoon and he finishes the last few bites.

“Y'know that one saying 'bet you can't have just one'?” You nod. “I figured I'd be able to convince myself one was enough. You were an easy target. Willin' one too, most of the time. Didn't want to get too into the whole killing people thing. It's... A moral issue I guess.” He shrugs.

“Am I the only person you've killed?”

“Surprisingly enough.” He mumbles. “There've been a choice few I've wanted to stick my blade in, but I managed to restrain myself.” He downs the remaining milk from the cereal bowl, “Until your ass showed up in that bar, naturally.”

“Naturally.” You say, and smirk. But what now? Do you go home and tell Karkat all about it? No, he'd probably think you were insane. Do you stay and fuck around some more? Tempting. Extremely.

“Next time we should avoid eliminating my ability to speak.” You say absent mindedly and see him shift a little to look at you.

He nods a little, turning his eyes down to his hands. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”

The silence persists once more.

Holy fuck you can't stand this awkward shit, something needs to happen right now.

“Next time you can drown me in the bathtub.” You mumble and watch him quirk an eyebrow at you. “Like. Doggy style, sort of, but with my hands tied behind my back so I can't like push myself above the surface.” You feel yourself nod a bit and he's staring at you now.

He hums a little and nods wordlessly, pointing at the half-finished cereal in your hands and you offer it to him. He takes it to the kitchen and dumps the remains, rinses the dish and puts it in the dishwasher.

“There's this kind of bamboo that grows real quick. Used for torture or some shit, lay a guy on it and it'll like grow through him or some shit.” The way he says it is almost like he's simply sharing an interesting fact, but you feel yourself nod in understanding. “Maybe. Edgin', mostly, for the first day or so?” He shrugs. You shrug.

“That sounds good.” You say. “We'll have to try that one.”

It's the most forced conversation you've ever had. It's hard to casually discuss murder-sex. Or sex-murder. Sexy dying. Fuck it, you don't even know what to call this fucked up thing.

“Poison?” You say, watching him from where you're sat.

“Do your limbs grow back if you don't die when they're cut off?” He asks, leaning on the counter and staring at you.

You. Don't actually know, you've never lost a limb before. Your answer is a simple shrug, but you ask him to elaborate on what he means. “Well I know you can die from blood loss, you could lose a lot of blood if a limb was just hacked right off. But what if it was removed all surgical like, with anesthetic and shit. Not just removed but amputated. Would it grow back, or not until you die?”

You shrug again. “I don't know, I've never lost a limb before.”

“Can we try it?”

“Now!?” You hug yourself, gripping your arms and staring at him wide eyed. “You gotta gimme a few days to prepare for 'oh hey I'm gonna cut your leg or arm off'.”

“No, not now!” He sighs, rolling his eyes, “Whenever the hell you're up for it, just wanted to know if you wanted to try it, calm the fuck down, jesus.” He looks like a petulant child as he looks at the floor. And you relax.

You both are quiet again and you finally mumble to him that that sounds like it could lead to some interesting shenanigans. He mentions neck-fucking, and you point out that that one would be hard for you to enjoy, but if he ever wants to try it, he just has to tell you. And record it. Let you watch it later. As he crosses the room and sits next to you again he agrees, telling you he'll record any of the ones you want.

 

You don't end up leaving for a couple more hours. You and Bro got to talking a lot about what all would be, quite frankly, fucked up things for him to do to you, until he broke the news that he had to leave for one reason or another. Numbers were swapped, and you were finally coming through your front door at one in the afternoon.

Karkat, being the strangely worrisome roommate he is, is on you immediately. He asks you where you've been (in not so many nice words) and tells you he almost called the police but then realized it was a stupid thing to do, he punches you in the chest hard enough you may bruise and tells you not to be a fucking idiot and at least send him a text when you're not going to come home.

You don't get why he's so freaked out by you being gone for a night. You've vanished for three days and he didn't say a word. He says that it's because Scratch knew where you were and kept him updated and you just brush it off.

He asks you 'seriously, who the fuck were you with last night' and when you tell him he looks... Pissed? He looks oddly angry for someone who laughed at the word commitment just a few weeks ago.

“That's not what I'm mad about, shitsponge, it's who you were with that pisses me off.” You scoff, roll your eyes. Suddenly you're the petulant child. It is you.

“Why do you even care?”

“Because you're fucked up enough as it is, if you and him become a regular thing I don't want to deal with you when you decide he only wants to be with you so he can kill you.”

You both pause. You give him a curious look. This feels like a moment from a teenage drama show. Or Glee. Except for the whole dying thing. The sexy dying thing. You still don't know what to call it.

You affect a loud sigh, exaggerating just how done you are with his shit (if only just a little) and you hunch a little where you stand, still near the doorway. “Yeah, there is a ridiculously high amount of cons with the situation I just got myelf into but I'm really... I'm just interested in seeing how it goes, okay?”

“John.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “You get dumber and dumber every god-damn day, I swear to shit, it's fucking amazing just how stupid you are capable of becoming overnight.” He turns and begins to go to his room, all the while still talking, “I mean really, how do you put your bra and panties on in the morning? All by yourself! It baffles me-” And he's finally cut off by closing his door.

He's probably right. But you'll cross that bridge when you get to it, right?

You think a lot about what you've done over the next few hours of sitting around your room. You wonder what Bro is doing. You also wonder what his name is some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this chapter kind of sucked but w/e  
> Next one will make up for it, hopefully.  
> 


	5. Checkup and Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so Captors are actually ten instead of eight, w/e  
> Also I think this chapter may be a bit shorter than the rest but it seemed like a good place to CUT IT OFF

Today is a day you hate. With all that you are you hate this day. You thank whatever deities exist that it only comes every two months. You've vented, via text message and one quick and tear filled phone call, to Bro just how much you hate today and he tells you that if you survive this you can go to his apartment and let him do dirty things to you.

You tell him you'll do your best and he says he'd probably do it anyways.

Fair enough.

So you sit on the sterile feeling bed, with your hands folded in your lap, your phone held between them like a security blanket. Scratch didn't ask you to get rid of it yet, so you're holding onto it, as if it will all be better if you have this single string keeping you attached to the rest of society.

You feel detached in the hospital like room, especially with the way it's decorated. All white, some green. But it's not a nice green, like plants, a green that makes you think of summer. It's his hideous limey sort of green that reminds you of the taste of peas, or cold and soggy french fries. You don't like it and it unnerves you to the point of stillness.

You were always such a mobile person, especially when you were younger (you use, for example, the breaking your neck incident) and your father always asked if something was worrying you when you were still, and normally the answer was yes.

Today you're worried because Doc Scratch can place a hand on your shoulder and somehow know everything you've been up to for the two months since he last saw you.

He knows about you and Karkat but he most certainly does not know about Bro and what you two got up to when you saw each other last week. Scratch is going to ask you all about what happened in the alley and you don't particularly look forward to answering all the ridiculously invasive questions he's going to throw your way.

And as soon as the door opens he shoots off the first question.

It's simple. “How are you?” But you still don't know how to answer. You usually don't. Today you try though.

“I'm... Okay. I guess. Nothing to complain about.”

“How have you been with the suicides lately?”

“Only twice since last time.”

He pauses at that, stops his walk across the room to his desk and turns to look at you. A single pale eyebrow is arched over unnaturally green eyes and he hums a little. “Very good.” He sounds impressed. You don't blame him.

“Although,” He still stares, at you, and takes a few steps closer, presses the back of his palm to your forehead like a mother checking her child's temperature. His hand is cold and you try not to flinch away from it and you watch his forehead crease, you watch the corners of his lips drop into a disappointed frown. “Those aren't the only two times you've died.” He says and then his hand leaves you. He opens his mouth and points to his tongue.

You have trouble entirely recalling that night. After he finally got his dick in you the rest is basically a blur. You don't say anything to Scratch. But you can tell that he knows. He sighs, 'tsk's you ever so slightly and finally goes to his desk.

“I have to say, you are the most interesting one.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“That wasn't a compliment.”

You sigh, your grip on your phone tightening and you want to text Bro but now that Doc is here you know you shouldn't.

“How has Karkat been?” He asks, as he organizes a small stack of papers and you just shrug, say that he's been fine and the man nods. “So tell me about the tongue.” He says. “I know what happened. But I would like to hear it in your words.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “If you already know then why do I have to tell it to you.” He repeats what he said, putting emphasis on the words _in your words_ and you suppose you get it.

“Do you want me to start from the beginning?” You mumble, meaning when you were eleven. He nods and you offer a long groan.

You recount to him, the best you can, the interactions you have had with Bro Strider since you were eleven. When you met the man for the first time and you weren't quite old enough to lust after someone. You try to fit in as many of the short passing greetings into your tale as you can and as you recall all of this yourself you begin to realize just how little you and him spoke in the six years between eleven and seventeen. You tell him about the first time Bro killed you.

You try not to go into too many details, and you choke on the word 'blowjob' more than once when trying to tell him. You don't know why he wants you to say all of this.

You skip to the first time you saw him at the bar. Then the second time and then the third and final time and you tell him as much as you remember from that night and the morning afterward and tell him you haven't seen him since, but you've continued talking over the phone.

He nods along at his desk, his eyes not leaving the paper he seems to be scribbling notes onto. When you finish your story telling he merely nods. “Interesting.” Is all he says. “Now, do the suicides have the same effect on you that him killing you does?” He sounds genuinely interested. You shift where you sit and try not to give in to the urge to leave.

“No. Only when someone else does it.” He nods a little. Mumbling to himself about how fucking interesting you are because you get turned on by someone killing you. You hope he doesn't ask you why. You don't know.

Eventually, after scribbling a little more and finally chuckling to himself, he shakes his head and turns to you, announces that he's going to start now, and you let him poke and prod at you.

He gives you a shot, and then three more. You don't know what they're for, but you never notice anything different after you get them. He looks close at your eyes and tells you that you seem pretty healthy considering, and then suggests you see a counselor, like he does every time. He tells you not to mention the suicide and just mention the feeling suicidal because if they find out what you are you'll likely get ratted out and no one wants that.

You still don't know why no one wants that.

But you don't ask.

He tells you that you shouldn't turn getting killed by Bro in strange and unique ways into a regular thing and you tell him you won't, even though it's a lie. The frown he gives you tells you that he knows it's a lie, but he doesn't say anything and finally excuses you.

You're halfway out the door before he calls your name, as if he's forgotten something and he gestures for you to follow him.

You do, without asking about it. He does this every now and then. He leads you to a smaller room, the walls are stained red and in the middle stands a little boy, ten at most, digging his foot into the throat of the one below him. They look the same age and when the one standing hears the door his eyes turn up, to Scratch and then to you. His glare softens a little, his foot lessens in pressure.

He pulls it off the other boy's neck and kicks him hard in the side. “Get up, 'Tuna, the doctor guy is here again.” He says and the other (surely his name isn't Tuna) sits up, rubbing his throat and coughing violently.

“I've already talked to Karkat. “ Scratch says and you see four eyes, both sets mismatched, are trained on the two of you. “They'll be staying with you for a few weeks, at most, until Rose is ready to take them off your hands.” You heave a sigh. You look to the boys, then to Scratch. To the boys, who look at you expectantly.

“What are their names?” You finally ask, looking to them. Scratch walks over, and places a hand on each young head, ruffling the hair of the one that had been called Tuna.

“This is Mituna,” He says and then pats the other one's head. “And this is Sollux.” You nod a little bit, walk to them and crouch slightly, you hold out a hand and introduce yourself.

“He has a funny name,” Mituna says with a childish chuckle and you nod, telling him yes, it is a funny name.

“Are you like us?” Sollux asks next and you nod a little.

He gets this wicked grin, says “Prove it.” and the next thing you know the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah if John dies it's basically the end of the chapter.


	6. So This is What Fatherhood is Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had.... Something to say.... But. I don't remember what it was...

When you come to, you're lying on the hospital bed. You stare at the ceiling for a long time. Just trying to take in what happened. Did you... Die? Black out? You turn your head to the side and watch for a moment as Mituna licks his hands and styles Sollux's hair with spit and... Blood. Ew. Okay.

You sit up and rub your head. “The fuck happened?” You ask the twins and Mituna gets this big happy grin on his face.

“Sollux didn't believe Doctor Scratch that there were others like us. So Sollux tests everyone we meet.” You stare at the two for a while and Sollux looks positively annoyed with you already.

“I cut your head off, stupid.” He says, crossing his arms and you notice the twisted s, the lisp making you want to laugh but at the same time you don't really want him to cut your head off again.

“How the hell did you do that?” You ask instead.

“He's been able to do that since we were four.” Mituna says. “The cat scratched him once when we were little and he killed it without even touching it! And then our dad was yelling and hitting us and he made his head fly off. I couldn't do it until we were six, though.” He says, continuing to mess with Sollux's hair and he just sat there and accepted it.

This must have been similar to what your thing is. And Karkat's. Karkat's is a little more powerful than yours. You can't cut off heads but given enough strength and practice you're pretty sure you could cause some sort of ruckus. Karkat just needs to get a little pissed and you have to calm him down before heads start rolling. Not quite the same though.

“That's... Neat.” You finally say, kicking your legs off the edge of the bed. “You guys are coming home with me then, huh.” You sigh and they nod in unison.

“ _Wunderbar_.” You groan, pinching your forehead and finally standing from the bed. “Then I guess we should get going before Karkat throws some kind of hissy fit.” You gesture for the children to follow you and Mituna releases Sollux's hair, padding to your side and latching onto your pant leg. Seriously?

Sollux comes to the other side.

Seriously.

“You two were trying to kill each other a few hours ago and now you're clinging to me, what the hell?” You say and they look up at you with twin looks of _what are you going to do about it?_ and all you do is sigh. “Whatever, whatever. Just don't be annoying about it, alright?”

You make your way out of the building with two ten year olds latched onto your legs. You manage to convince both of them to sit in the back seat and promise them food on the way back to the apartment to seal the deal.

You don't look in the rear view mirror at them when you hear one or the other cackle like mad. You try to ignore the fact that there may well be hamburger bits all over the back of your car forever.

You get to the apartment, lead the two up the stairs (they opt to hold onto your arms this time, instead of your legs) and you manage to unlock the door and release them into the apartment. They immediately go for the couch, climbing onto it and sitting next to each other.

They find the remote and the television is on before you can say anything to them and they are silent as they watch the tv, leaning against each other.

You decide this is good. This is a good situation. You go to Karkat's door, knock, and let yourself in when you hear a grunt in response.

“I didn't agree to taking in any kids.”

“That's because I didn't ask you.” Karkat mumbles from his place at his desk, sighing loudly and turning to face you. “It's just for a little while, Jesus. It's better than leaving them with Scratch, where they sit in a room and see who can kill the other the coolest way.”

“Sollux cut my head off with his brain.” He pauses, crosses his arms and squinting ever so slightly. “Yeah. Didn't even touch me. Just asked if I was immortal like him and his brother, I said yes, he said prove it and then bam, I was dead. Woke up a couple hours later and watched Mituna use blood like fucking hair gel in his hair. You sure you want to become a dad, Karkat?”

He stares, looks slightly horrified by this news. “They're crazier than Scratch said.” He finally whispers, sounding dumbfounded by this. “My opinion doesn't change, though.” He adds, and shakes his head. “Just keep them occupied until they get tired and go to sleep, isn't that how kids work?” Karkat knows literally nothing about kids, you decide.

You put up with them (begrudgingly). They watch tv mostly, cuddle a lot, they're actually pretty cute when they're not being fucking crazy and killing each other (and you). You feed them grilled cheese for dinner and they end up throwing french fries at each other for an hour and a half. By the time Karkat takes them off your hands you're exhausted. It's late. You text Bro “maybe next time” and you're asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.

You dream of the twins playing keep-away with your head until you're roused by something moving next to you, and a warm body is pressed against yours.

“Th' fuck 're ya doin'?” You slur tiredly as Karkat tosses an arm over your shoulders.

“Brats fell asleep in my bed.” Is all he says, before telling you to go to sleep, and he presses his face into the back of your neck.

You're kept awake for a few hours by how strangely intimate spooning with Karkat turns out to be. You try not to be bothered by his breath on your neck, or the way his arm tightens every now and then, like he's hugging you in his sleep. His fingers twitch over your arm, tickling then skin enough to give you goose bumps. You don't know how you managed to fall asleep but somehow you did.

You wake up again, a few hours later, to Sollux shaking your arm. He's covered in blood, you note, and it's an interesting feeling in the bit of your stomach that you're not at all bothered by it.

“'Tuna won't come back.” He whispers, a shake in his voice. He's crying, you realize when he sniffles loudly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so next chapter, no smut, chapter after, smut.
> 
> I don't know where all this plot shit came from it just sort of started happening, like none of this shit with the twins was in here originally.
> 
> Also I feel like these chapters are getting shorter? Idk, I just like to type up real quick and get it out, this isn't like my main project rn.


	7. Parenthood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while, whoops.

Nineteen years of life could not have possibly prepared you for the feeling of trying to get a dead ten year old into your trunk. You made Sollux change clothes, you managed to get him to stop crying with the promise of fixing this problem. He insisted he stay in the trunk with Mituna. You managed to tell him no.

Karkat is in the back seat with Sollux and you have never felt more like a parent than when you have to threaten to turn the car around.

You get to Doc Scratch's and are not at all surprised by the fact that the light is still on at one in the morning. You carry Mituna, Karkat lets Sollux cling to his hand and he continues to sniffle the entire time you're waiting for Scratch the answer the door.

As he does, he looks up, sees you, opens his mouth to speak, notices Mituna, and no words come out of his mouth.

He opens his mouth to speak once more and it snaps shut again. “What happened?” He finally says, ushering you inside and you step through the door. You hear Sollux start babbling, as if he's trying to explain what happened, but it can't be understood through tears and snot and broken sobs.

You feel really bad for the kid, he pretty much killed his brother for real this time.

Doc Scratch takes Mituna out of your hands and asks you to explain. You do, to the best of your knowledge; they fell asleep, but Mituna kicks, so they got into an argument about him keeping Sollux awake, Sollux got mad about Mituna taking up his space on the bed, he got out of hand, thus here you are.

Scratch look concerned. Disappointed. So many things, as he turns to look at the dead child on the bed, and then down to Sollux. Sollux is still sniffling and he steps around Scratch to go to Mituna and he nudges his arm lightly.

“I didn't really want you to die, stupid.” He whines, his voice cracking, “It was just a joke, why do you have to take it so seriously?” He continues talking to him for a while before you and Karkat look at each other with equal looks of despair.

If Mituna doesn't come back, what will happen to Sollux?

Scratch crouches next to the child, manages to shush him and send him to you. He tells you to go home. He'll call you if something happens. He tells you that if he hasn't called in two days, assume the worst.

Sollux refuses to leave Karkat's lap the entire drive home. Once back at the apartment, Karkat tucks the kid into his bed and tells him that everything will be okay, tells him Scratch will fix it, and something in your gut screams he's lying. But Sollux believes him, and that's enough as you and Karkat are back to lying in your bed. You don't fall asleep. You stare at the ceiling and wonder.

If Mituna can die, what does that say of you? Can you die? Can Karkat die? Is there some sort of limit on times you can die, and if so how did Mituna use up all of his in the four years Sollux has been killing him repeatedly. Lots of questions. Lots of questions that aren't getting answered as you lie on your back and watch the shadows flicker across the ceiling. You watch a sliver of light appear. It gets bigger and you hear the padding of small feet. The sliver leaves, and you hear the door close and after a moment there's an extra weight on the bed, and Sollux climbs in between you and Karkat, curling up to your side and shaking.

He didn't mean to kill Mituna, you know that much. He thought he was going to come back like he always did. You take a deep breath, put your arm around the smaller frame in a gesture you hope is comforting, and somehow fall asleep.

You wake when the phone rings. Karkat answers it, and when he announces that it's Doc Scratch Sollux makes an ungodly screeching noise you regret ever being witness to. Karkat doesn't say anything for a while, listening to whatever Scratch was going on about. Sollux's grip on your hand was tight, his nails digging in and he mumbled to himself, phrases like 'he's going to be okay' and 'I promise not to kill him anymore'.

When Karkat finally hangs up he turns to you two, his eyes focused on the kid.

“He's alive,” He starts and holds up a hand just as Sollux begins to move. “He's... Different.” He looks like he's trying to find a better way to say it. Different being the only word he can come up with. “He's okay though, I promise.” He finishes and sighs. “Do you want to go see him?” He asks and Sollux doesn't hesitate to nod, fiercely, just nodding and answering yes over and over again, yes, yes, yes, yes he wants to go see his brother.

“He's coming back here afterward, do you just want to laze around this shit hive while we're gone?” Karkat quirks an eyebrow at you and you nod slowly. You don't particularly feel like getting up. You haven't gotten much sleep.

Karkat takes Sollux, and he's gone.

You check the time. You wonder what you're going to do for all of ten minutes before you're alseep again.

When you awake it's not of your own volition, but instead from something soft smacking you in the face. Much harder than anything that soft ought to be able to smack you in the face.

You open our eyes to meet green and blue ones, Mituna perched on your chest with an arm reeled back, holding a stuffed animal. He's got this wide grin on his face, and a pale, mottled scar running from his collar bone up to the opposite side of his jaw.

“Tuna, stop it!” You hear Sollux's voice, and then Mituna falls off of you with a happy shriek. “why are you acting so stupid!?” He adds and you sit up, looking down to Sollux, standing over Mituna who's choking on laughter on the floor.

He rattles off a reason, and you count a god five cuss words in one sentence and he's laughing again. Sollux tenses, and you reach to stop him form doing something drastic before he drops to his knees next to his brother and hugs his head to his chest. He mumbles agreements. “Yeah, that's why you're acting like a shit head.” he mumbles. You hear a sniffle before he's standing again, pulling Mituna to his feet and leading him out of the room telling him that he should leave you alone while you're sleeping.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and stare at the empty doorway. What had happened? Is this what Karkat had meant by different?

Speak of the devil, he steps around the corner, looking behind him for a moment before turning to look at you. You raise an eyebrow. The silent question. Karkat mumbles 'brain damage' and you 'ah' in understanding. You wonder why. How?

Karkat closes the door as he crosses the room to the bed, dropping himself into the empty space next to you and heaving a loud sigh. “i'm never having kids.” he mutters into the blankets, and his hand finds yours, sliding his fingers in between yours and sighing. “you're not allowed to have kids either.”

You roll your eyes. Shake your head a little. “Wasn't really planning on it.”

“Your turn to watch them.”

“I watched them yesterday.”

He curses. “I took Sollux to go pick up his broken brother.”

“I drove with a dead ten year old in my trunk, what if I'd gotten pulled over?”

“Oh my god, fine, you win.” He pulls his hand out of yours and sits up, groaning a little bit. “Of all the kids for Scratch to ask us to watch.” He sighs. “At least it's only for a little bit, right?” You nod. “And then they're Rose's problem.” He nods to himself. “there we go, motivate myself. Give myself a reason to keep them from further cracking their already spider-web-esque mental state so that Rose can patch it up when she gets a hold of them.” Karkat rubs his temples, rolling himself off the bed and to his feet. “God damn I hate kids.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you wasn't gonna kill Mituna.  
> There'll be an explanation as to what happened to Tuna later, but for now, I give you this, next chapter?  
> Well next chapter John pays Bro a visit and things go... Well... You know.  
> 


	8. Creativity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John pays a visit to Bro, and gets wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John gets drowneded (what), in this chapter. Let the author say I have never drowned before so I have no idea what it's like, this is me winging it.
> 
> SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG  
> HOPE THIS IS WORTH THE WAIT
> 
> I have a job now. I work with children, It's hard to work with kids and then come home to write this, but I'm getting better every day.
> 
> Enjoy you creepy fucks.

As soon as Karkat was out of your room you were up, digging through your closet for something to change into because you've been wearing this exact same outfit since your appointment with Scratch. T-shirt, jeans, a hoodie you hijacked from Dave years ago that is somehow still too big for you. You kind of like the fact that it was his, it's kind of the only thing left that says 'oh yeah, I was friends with Dave'.

The thought passes your mind that you should call him. It's been more than a year since you last talked.  
It's not like he visited you over the holidays or anything. Two Christmases ago (the last time you talked) he'd said he wasn't even coming to town. A few months ago you hadn't even bothered to ask, and he hadn't bothered to tell you whether or not it was happening.

You don't know why you miss him sometimes, he was kind of an ass to you anyways.

You shake your head, switch the hoodie for the one Karkat got you for Christmas, and leave the room.

You're at the door when something slams into your back, sending you into the door and a small child tumbling to the floor behind you. You turn to see Mituna, quickly followed by Sollux, who grabs him and pulls him away from you, telling him to hurry up.

Karkat watches from the couch, an eyebrow quirked over black rims, and once the children have wandered back to Karkat's room he looks to you. “Hey, wait, I need you to do something for me.” He says, and stands up.

“But why?”

“Because the main characters are our heights and I need a reference.” He says, scowling at you, he motions you over, and reluctantly you step over. “Knees.” He says simply. You comply, lowering yourself to your knees in front of him and he stands there a hums a little, stepping to one side, to the other, and he huh's softly. “Alright, go out and do whatever it was you were going to do.” He says, and waves you off.

“What scene are you writing?” You ask as you stand, he sits, pulls his laptop into his lap.

“The one where he dies.” He says and begins tapping away at the keys. “Or, y'know,” he stops typing and raises his fingers. “'Dies'.” He says, air quotes this time and you nod.

“So you're almost done.” He nods. “When?”

“Couple weeks maybe.”

“Do I get a free copy?”

“You always do.”

“Cool.” You say. “Are you ever going to write a sequel for the last one, by the way?”

“No. Why would I? No one reads my shit.”

“Maybe I can get Bro into it.”

“Sincerely doubt that man would be into my writing.”

“Maybe you should write something you think he'd be into. Expand your horizons.” You spread your hands in the air in front of you and he turns his glare up to you.

“You made me write 'horizons'.” He mumbles, and finally shoos you off. “Just go fuck your boyfriend or whatever, or I'll change my mind about that free copy thing.” You hold up defensive hands and finally make your way to the door, pulling on your shoes and closing it behind with a final call of goodbye.

You sent Bro a message, warning of your impending arrival, and he asks what you plan to happen. You tell him you're not sure yet, he should think of something on your way over. He tells you he's going to get creative with it.

You tell him you're interested to see what he has in store, and you get in your car and drive.

By the time you're there you've concocted a hundred possibilities in your head and you're half hard at the thought of all of it. You hope whatever he has in plan is as good as what your mind has cooked up, and you manage to not rush up the stairs of the apartment building.

When you get to the oh-so familiar door you're actually given pause by your memories. You remember the first time you came home with Dave and the first time you met Bro. You don't imagine it ever once crossed your mind that you and Bro would be... Well you're not really sure what you are. Fuck buddies, probably. Fuck buddies with this weird murderous twist, which both of you are surprisingly okay with.

Your fist, which had paused in the air, finally connects with the door, three knocks, and falls to your side.

You wait a beat. Two. The door opens a crack, an eye falls on you. There's a moment where you just stare at him as the door opens more, he grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you into the apartment.

There's a surprisingly strong jolt of pain up your spine when he pins you to the wall, his arm across your chest and pressing so hard it's painful to breath and instead of scaring you it turns you on. You imagine how easily he could probably break your ribs with just more pressure. You paint pictures in your head about him breaking everything, arms, legs, ribs, everything. Neither of you have said anything yet. He's just standing there. You feel like he's trying to read your mind.

You try to take a deeper breath, and it's broken by him shoving hard against your chest, interrupting you and making you gag on air.

“I'm going to drown you.” He says. Flat, conversationally, as if he's not talking about killing you, and probably fucking you while he does it. But the thought of it, at first confuses you. But at the same time you think about it. You imagine it's similar to asphyxiation, which you're familiar with. You fidget where you stand, your hands go to his chest, grabbing his shirt.

You take a shaking breath and manage to ask _how?_

He grins like someone who just got away with murder (and who will be getting away with murder quite often, you think) and leans in, beginning a trail of bites. He starts along your jaw, down the side of your neck and back up breathing his answer on your cheek, making you shudder. “You're going to get on your knees. And I'm going to bend you over and fuck you into the water until your lungs are water balloons.”

You let your mind linger on it, imagine the feeling of your air being replaced by water and you feel a cough building up at the mere thought. He leans back to look at you, shades bothering you even more right now than ever before. You feel like if you're going to let him fuck you then you should be able to see his eyes right? Your hands move, going to his shoulders where they pause and you think he knows what you're trying to do because his hands move to your wrists, pulling them away and pinning them to the wall.

“Are you okay with that?”

The question throws you off. Why would he ask that? You didn't think it even mattered by this point. A surprised little 'what' comes out of you and you didn't intend to say it out loud, but there it is, hanging in the air.

“I'm pretty big on consent, so is that okay, or do you want to do something else?”

“N-no... I. Yeah, that sounds... Good.” You're even more unsure on what to think of Bro. You had figured the lack of protest would have been enough of a sign that you were SO down with drowning but. Well, it was nice of him, you guess. You don't know of any ways you would protest to, but he's considerate.

His hands drop, grabbing onto the zipper of your hoodie and undoing it, pulling the article off of you. “Good.” He says simply, tossing the sweater aside and going for your neck again as his fingers begin to slip under the bottom hem of your shirt.

The contact sends a pleasant shiver up your spine, manifesting itself in a gasp as he tugs your shirt off. He obviously means business here, and you decide to follow his lead, tugging on his shirt until he lets it slip over his head.

He bites and sucks at the skin over your collar bones as you begin to rake your nails down his back, feeling him hum against you as red lines sprout on his pale skin. His hands are wandering, up and down your torso, pinching and rubbing you pleasantly until you moan softly for him and he smirks against the newest hickey where you neck meets your shoulder.

He grabs your ass through your jeans and pulls you away from the wall, backing up carefully, pulling you along with him until he turns you around and presses you to an edge. A quick glance over your shoulder sees a kitchen counter, and a sink full of water.

His wandering hands come to a stop, one on your hip and the other pressed lightly to your chin. “Safeword.”

“What?”

“If you want me to stop-”

“I know what a safeword is.”

“Well then fucking pick one.”

“Ugh, Jesus, asparagus.”

“Asparagus.”

“Yes.”

“Got it.”

With no warning whatsoever, you are shoved. The hand on your neck pushing you backwards until your head meets cold water and is quickly engulfed in it. The sudden action makes you gasp, choking quickly on the water and just as quickly you are pulled up, your back aching and your chest convulsing and you spit water up on Bro, who doesn't seem to mind the mess. He waits for you to stop coughing before his hands begin roaming once more, they go to your ass again, pressing and squeezing.

He tugs at the fastenings, insistent to get them undone while you're still recovering from the water. He has your jeans and underwear gone before you're even aware they had been in the process of coming off, and he leans close, stretching an arm behind you to grab something.

In that short moment he's close you can feel his breath across your mouth and you realize you've never actually kissed him. Which is odd, because isn't kissing like a huge part of foreplay?

By the time you've thought of closing the small distance he's back to being too far away, and he's pouring lube on his fingers like you're a virgin in need of that much (Which you're not, and not because of him). You think he may be making up for the blood last time.

The lubed fingers disappear behind you, while the other hand goes back to your throat. Prepared, you do not inhale when he shoves you back into the water. The angle is weird for your back, it's painful, and your head is upside down, so that's throwing some extra disorientation in there. You hold your breath, your hands clasping the one on your neck. You feel his fingers, soft at first, gently rubbing and careful.

When one slips in suddenly, it makes your held breath falter for a second, and you lose some of the air you'd been holding in. You don't know why you're even holding your breath. You think it's some natural instinct. But the lack of air is making your head lighter and lighter and you're reminded of the times you've let yourself suffocate and feel the way you tighten around Bro's finger. You think it's taken as a sign, and after a few more moments, Bro adds another, finally letting you come up for air.

When you get it you suck in lungfuls, gasping loudly and closing your eyes tightly. When you finally manage to open them everything is blurry. You realize your glasses were never removed, and are probably in the sink now.

Bro sets to thrusting his fingers into you, drawing a slow building moan and your light head feels even lighter.

You reach for his pants, your fingers brushing the belt and you gasp a please. His answer is not yet, and he seems to wait a moment, he waits until you've finished breathing out to push again, dunking you once more, and this time without air to hold you. You try, feel yourself tighten your hands around his wrist.

He pulls you up again, and you choke, coughing up more water as his hand leaves your neck, down to your painfully hard dick. He gives it one, encouraging stroke, before his hand leaves. You moan pitifully at the lost contact, your voice becoming hoarse from the water going down all the wrong pipes. The moan takes a turn for downright whoreish when he shoves in a third finger and you hear his belt being undone. You don't know how he managed it with one hand.

He shifts a bit, you lose contact with all but the fingers inside of you for just long enough for him to ditch the leftover clothes, and then there's hot skin on yours. His fingers disappear, he grabs your thighs, and gives them a harsh squeeze. “Grab the counter.” You do exactly as you are told, bracing your hands and he pulls, lifting your legs and pulling them to tell you to wrap them around him.

Once you do you can feel his dick against you and it makes you groan, tilting your head back a little. He grabs your shoulders, tells you to let go, and you do. He lowers you, your shoulder blades resting just on the edge of the sink. He leans over, grabbing the lube again.

One hand goes to your aching cock while the other disappears under you. You're arms are bent at an odd angle, holding you against the counter for the time being while he strokes you and himself, giving you low moans that are music to your ears.

His hand leaves your dick, grabs your hip, and you feel him press against you. You roll your hips in response, wordlessly begging him to please put it in. He tells you to hold yourself, places his hand on your chin and dunks you once more, thrusting into you simultaneously.

You believe the entire point of that was to make you cry out under the water. You hear the sound you make, muffled if only slightly and you see bubbles forming around you and you suck in a lungful of air. Your first instinct is to cough, and you begin to, only making it worse, as Bro does not let you up for air this time.

He begins a pace. He doesn't start slow. You didn't want him to. As he moves inside of you you want to moan his name and you want to whisper dirty things to him but you're too busy choking on the water surrounding you, and the water inside of you, and you're so fucking close already why do you have to be so easy to get off?

You are pulled up. Just long enough to cough up a mouthful of water before you're shoved down again. You didn't really get a chance to breath. He's shoving into you so hard it's burning and it feels so good, and you manage to coordinate your hands enough to grab his shoulders, squeezing them appreciatively.

Everything is so light. Your head is aching and you're chest is on fire and you feel so fucking good you want to cry. You love being treated this way. Unhealthy? Probably. Do you give a shit? Not when Bro thrusts so perfectly, makes you see more stars than you're already seeing through oxygen deprivation. He pulls you up once more, you can barely hear him groaning your name over your own ringing in your ears, and the coughing that's bringing a new pain to your muscles.

Once more under water, you feel your peak coming. You try to tell him, you swallow more water and choke and it's almost like a switch being flipped and you convulse when you come, your fingers tightening on Bro's shoulders more than you thought you were capable of at that moment. It gets blurry around the edges of your senses and what's left of you focuses on the feeling of Bro pounding against you. His grip on your neck pressing just enough to keep you under, but not enough to cut off your breathing.

Him blowing inside of you is a hot sensation that flares into existence through the last working synapses of your brain and you use your last energies to try and moan, but nothing comes out.

It's pleasantly dark. The edges of you awareness picking up Bro;s movements, adjusting and shoving you further down. Fuzzy light pricks the center of your vision, grows until it's all that's left before it goes out like a television turning off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are my favorite things. And I reply to pretty much every single one. So, yknow, enjoy that.


	9. (Extra 1) Back and Forth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sollux is scared of losing his brother. He's scared of him learning about what happened to him. He's scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is an extra! Not really required, but it gives some insight to stuff that doesn't really matter to canon. It's from Sollux's point of view, hurray!  
> Takes place after the previous chapter, so we're still going in order timeline wise so that's good.

You wake up wrapped up in blankets and arms. Wiggle until you are free and climb out of the bed. John left some time yesterday and you haven't seen him since. But that's okay. You like Karkat more. On your way out the door you double check to make sure you didn't wake up Mituna, and you leave Karkat's room. He's in the living room, asleep on the couch with his computer on the floor.

You walk up to his sleeping form, and pat his shoulder a handful of times, attempting to wake him. He simply rolls over, swats at his shoulder and resumes his sound sleeping.

You look to his computer, then, sitting on the floor and turning it to face you. You save the document open, noting the large “HOLY SHIT I'M ALMOST DONE' typed at the end. You minimize everything, and close the computer. No use leaving it open when no one is using it.

You climb onto the couch, on top of Karkat, and lay down on his back. Your head fits perfectly between his shoulder blades and you rest it there, nuzzling against the thick sweater he was wearing and you curl your fingers into the fabric.

Laying here you listen closely to the sound of his heart beat, and the rush of blood through veins. You listen, because it sounds too organized. His heart is beating in perfect time. Not an off-beat to be heard, which is odd. Even sound asleep, Tuna's heart doesn't beat perfectly in time.

Karkat sounds like a metronome. Thumping away with a slow rhythm.

You hate it.

You want it gone.

You lift yourself on your arms, your palms pressed into Karkat's shoulder blades. You sit on his lower back and shake him, violently, jumping up and down to wake him and when he is finally roused he rolls over, and you fall off of him. You hit the floor with a loud thud, you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes and his look of fury melts into one of calm discontent.

“Sollux, it's three in the morning. What the fuck are you doing awake?”

“I hate it.”

“Hate it? Hate what? Sleep? I don't think anyone hates sleep.”

“NO!” You groan, frustrated, and you stand, punching him softly in the chest, right over his heart. “It's weird. I hate it. I want it gone.”

“Wh...” He trails off, confused, barely awake. “Why did you punch me.”

With a angry grunt, you twist your arm, Karkat's arm moves in a similar manner, but farther, and he cries out when the bones pop and grind in the wrong way. You point to his heart again, and lean in, pressing an ear to his chest and listening as it continues thumping. Faster now, but still perfectly apart. You pull away and glare up at him. “Why is it doing that?”

“What, beating!?” He sounds angry. “Because I'm alive you piece of shit. I'm not above punching a kid in self defense, so let my arm go. Now, Sollux.” You don't really like his attitude, and flick your other wrist, twisting the other arm backwards. Beyond it's limits. Karkat let's out another noise and it's a really nice noise. You like it.

“Why doesn't it do weird stuff like mine and Tuna's?” You amend. Maybe now he'll get it.

His brow furrows in confusion before a look like realization has struck him comes over his face. “What you mean that it's perfectly timed to not spazz the fuck out and kill me?” He asks. You nod. “I can control it.” He says simply, and then nods his head in the general direction of the arm that is bent backwards. “Kind of like you can do that. Except I can't do it to other people. Now can you let me the fuck go!”

“No.” You mumble, but drop one arm, pointing at his chest.

“Don't you fucking dare.” He hisses.

“Fuck off.” Is your response and you listen as the beating gets harder and Karkat tenses and it slows and you realize he's fighting you. Your attempt to straight up stop his heart are being foiled by whatever it is he's doing, keeping the blood flowing, something, you don't know, but you really don't fucking like it. “Stop that!” You shout after a moment, when the strain is wearing on your mind and he doesn't even look like he's breaking a sweat. “Just fucking die already, you're going to come back anyways!” You don't want it to be so perfect. He isn't allowed to have a perfect heart when you can't have a working brother.

“Sollux, stop.” He grinds out.

“Sollux?” You freeze, you grip on Karkat disappearing and you quickly turn your head, seeing Mituna, peeking around the corner.

Shit.

Shit shit shit, you didn't want that to happen, fuck.

Mituna had forgotten. About all of it, about your powers about your immortality, and you wanted it to stay that way. You didn't want to have him knowing about all of it and doing anything anyone would regret. Karkat hissed from his spot on the couch, rubbing at his arms. They probably hurt. Mituna steps around the corner and runs over to Karkat, climbing onto the couch next to him, almost behind him, and staring at you. He looks scared of you, and the way he clings to Karkat speaks VOLUMES about how terrified he is as he stares, wide eyed at you.

Karkat looks surprised by Mituna's actions too, and twists himself around to wrap an arm around your brother, pulling him into his lap and telling him it's okay, there's nothing to be afraid f. He tells him that you were just playing a game. Tells him it was all for fun and Mituna seems to calm down at this, smiling at you again. Tuna says that he thought you were hurting Karkat and you watch the wheels in the older man's head turn as he realizes that Mituna is the only thing keeping you from forcing his heart to explode right now.

He tells you to go to sleep, slips Mituna from his lap and shoos the both of you off, but Mituna refuses, says he's awake now and wants Karkat to stay up with him.

You feel this burning in your gut because this is wrong; Mituna's not supposed to like other people. It's just been the two of you for so long, Karkat can't take him from you! You won't let him!

Karkat gives a long sigh, and tells Mituna that if he wants to he can sleep in John's room with him. Tells him that he'll tell him stories. Karkat asks if you want to come listen to a story and Mituna says he doesn't want you to come and you feel something hard in your throat. He can't do that... He's your brother... He's supposed to stick with you all the time. He can't go with Karkat, you won't let him.

“He doesn't tell any good stories, Tuna.” You try, but Mituna grins in return, quickly announcing that he doesn't care.

Karkat stands, your brother grabs onto the leg of his pants. “I'm going to go change into some sweats or something before we get this shit going, alright? Jeans are not fun to sleep in.” And he detaches Mituna, tells him to wait in the living room, and goes into his room.

Mituna has this huge goofy grin on his face and he looks so excited. Why doesn't he want you to come with? This is bullshit!

“What the fuck!?” You snap at him as he sits on the couch and he flinches, his grin disappearing for a moment before returning, but he doesn't give you an answer only laughs. You eye the scar on his neck. You try not to let the anger get the better of you.

He's not supposed to like other people! He's just supposed to like you! And you're just supposed to like him! No adults! Especially not the ones that don't even want to bother with you for more than a month at a time! None of the adults you've been with for the past two years deserve you or Mituna's affection, or attention, or any of that!

You feel a prickling behind your eyes and Mituna laughs at you when the first tear falls and you're so fucking pissed off at him! You want him to die again! And you don't want him to come back this time!

“Stop laughing!” You yell and all it does is encourage him. He laughs more and tells you no, because it's too funny when you cry like a baby and with a palpable rage you swing your arm at him, and watch as his body stills, and his body slouches, his head falling to the floor with a loud thud and he's finally fucking quiet. You kick him. His body slumps, falling off the couch to the floor and coloring the carpet red.

You kick him again, you punt his head across the floor and yell obscenities until Karkat comes back out, asking what all the yelling is about before he sees Mituna's parts and curses loudly.

“God dammit, Sollux! Remember what happened last time!?” He snaps, quickly picking up the severed head of your twin and rushing to the body. He curses a few more times, runs a now bloody hand through his hair worriedly, notices and blanches, sets the head down. He turns to you with something akin to disappointment and he grabs your wrist, pulling you to him.

“What the fuck happened?” He barks, and you're silent. He squeezes your arm, hard and you let out a yelp of pain. “How long does it usually take!?” He pulls on you when you don't respond, and you finally look down at your brother.

He's split into two pieces and something inside you flips like a switch and a sob rips from your throat, raw and terrified and you don't know why you did that to him, why did you do that to your Tuna? He's your only brother, what if he doesn't come back again.

Karkat jerks on your arm again and you look up to him, tears streaming down your face and when your eyes meet his he seems to freeze, seeing the tears and the eye contact makes something twist in your gut and you break down in apologies.

You fall to your knees when Karkat lets go of your wrist and you carefully pick up Mituna's head, hugging it to your chest as you sob broken words of regret and beg him to please, _please_ come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh technically I didn't HAVE to post this as a chapter on here, but I did. SOrry it's not really a really real update, but it's still a good read, I think!


	10. No One Can Tell You're Crying If It's Raining Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shedding some light on why John and Karkat's relationship isn't cute or healthy.

Soft hands trace small shapes across your chest, the light touches being a nice thing to wake up to. You still taste water, and your lungs ache, but it's bearable. You don't think you'll be able to be in a bathtub for a while though. The hands slow as you shift, turning toward the warmth of Bro's body and he places his arms carefully around you.

“You okay?” He asks. It's gentle. You hum an affirmative and he nods a bit, pulling you against him. “Y'sure?” You nod. “That was a pretty intense thing we did-” You press a finger to his chin, missing your target of his mouth but he gets the point and stops talking.

“That was awesome.” You whisper, and bury your face in his warm chest. Compared to the water from before it is very nice. You almost wish there were a blanket. Then you realize he may have one. Ask, and he says yes, leaving you for only a moment before returning and draping it across the both of you.

You curl into his chest, and he stares down at you for a while before you gather the courage to meet his gaze. What you meet is bright orange, staring at you with a hint of confusion. “You're awful cuddly for someone lying next to the guy who's killed you three times.” He says.

“Dude it was my idea the first time.”

“Yeah but-”

“Nuh-uh. None of this. I want to lie here for a bit, bask in the burning in my lungs, and then we can talk about whatever it is you have on your mind, deal?” He grows quiet for you, and places an arm over you, albeit with a loud sigh of annoyance.

You lie next to him for a while before the heat finally begins to bother you, and you shift away. He lets you go without protest, and then comments on how _fucking magical you obviously are for getting a man like him to fucking cuddle with you for an hour and a half_. You tell him you are pretty fucking magical, and then track down your pants.

Your phone proclaims you have several missed calls, and six text messages. All from Karkat. At three in the morning what the fuck dude.

You listen to the first voicemail, which widely consists of a child sobbing in the background while Karkat tries to get him to “-be quiet so I can talk on the god-damn phone you murderous son of a bitch!” And altogether fails. The second is more sobbing, and then a weeping child apologizing repeatedly and it occurs to you that what you're hearing is Sollux, and then Karkat shouting for him to “-give me my phone back, holy fucking shit!”

The text messages are a bit more sporadic. The first one simply explaining that Sollux killed Mituna again. The next saying that it's been an hour and he's still not awake. You repeatedly get that update at different increments until finally it says “Okay, he's coming back.” at seven AM. You don't know what to think of this. Sollux had said he would stop. What had happened?

“What's the matter?” Bro asks from behind you, and you turn to finally look at him, wordlessly asking him how he knew something was wrong, “I raised Dave, I know a worried hunch when I see one.” He gestures to your shoulders and you turn to see them, looking at the slouch and you immediately straighten up.

“Sorry. Me and Karkat, my roommate, I guess, whatever he is, we got stuck with two kids. Like, other immortals. It's kind of hard to explain, but the long and short of it is that they're twins, have a habit of killing each other with their brains, and one of them actually got legitimate brain damage from this, and so we're really worried he may like, actually die or something because he came really close.” You pause as it sinks in. “We're all just a little on edge because if he can get that close what does that say for us, y'know?”

“So there are more? You're not the only one?”

“Yeah. Did you think I was the only one?”

“Kind of. How many of you are there?”

You hum a little, put your phone back and return to the futon, sitting down on the edge with a long sigh. “Well. About... twelve? I think. Just in like, this state, that we know of and that are old enough... There's...” You lift your hands, and begin to count. “Me, Rose and Karkat. The twins. Scratch. Trace, Clover, and Caliborn... Equius... Vriska. God, can't forget Vriska. And this guy who's a complete and total shut in. Think his name is, like. Jake or something.” Bro is just kind of looking at you. Like this is interesting. And you guess to him it is. You think back over the list and nod a bit to yourself, then shake your head, “No, wait, no, Uh... Not Clover... His brother, or cousin or something.” An eyebrow is quirked at you. “Like, fuck, his brother has terribly bad anxiety, like he can't leave his house, so like for the weird group therapy things Scratch makes us do Clover comes in his place. It's weird. And honestly confusing.”

“Sounds like an interesting group of people.”

“I guess. They're mostly just crazy. And all have these weird abilities.”

Bro offers a sort of nod. “Right. I need to shower. So, if you want to you can go after me? Or like, leave, whichever floats your boat.”

“I thought you wanted to talk about shit.”

“Judging by what I heard from your phone you probably have a traumatized child to deal with. It'd probably be better if you left sooner, rather than later.” He has a point. You give him that. You consider taking up the offer of a shower as he is standing.

When he gets to the bathroom door he pauses, and turns a bit in your direction. “So... You leaving?” You shrug, give a reluctant nod. You're not really excited about going back to the apartment and dealing with Sollux and Mituna, but do you really have much choice?

Those two need more counseling than you do.

So you say goodbye, promise to text or call and you leave, wishing that the burn in your chest had stayed longer.

You get to the apartment and find it locked, naturally. You dig for your key and find you don’t have it. You curse a few times and thump your head against the door before knocking.

“You forgot your key.” A voice on the other side says. You groan a yes, but the door doesn’t open. “What’s the password?”

“Karkat just open the fucking door.”

“Nope.”

You groan again. “Please open the door?”

“Nah.”

“Karkat are you drunk?”

“Fuck yes, what’s the god damned password zombie boy?”

“I’ll buy you more alcohol if you let me in.” There’s a long time where it’s silent, you hear something tapping against the door, you hear Karkat make contemplating noises before it unlocks and swings open and he doesn’t sound nearly as drunk as he looks. Hair disheveled and shirt wrong. Seriously he doesn’t even have an arm through one of the sleeves it’s through the neck hole with his head and the poor sleeve is just hanging there like a flaccid hair dangler in a shitty porno.

He leans on the door frame and puts on a wonky smile. “You know what we haven’t done?” He says, pointing at you with the hand not currently holding onto a bottle of shitty whiskey he probably got for ten dollars at the liquor store down the street, “We haven’t-” He cuts himself off with a hiccup or a burp or some weird combination of the two, “we haven’t fucked in a really long time.” And he nods, grabbing your arm and tugging you into the apartment as he slams the door behind you.

“Scratch tooks the kids for a bit, gonna talk to ‘em about all that killin’ shit they getting up to.” This probably explains the drinking, he only has a drink when he’s stressed out and it never gets this bad, “And you know what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna fuck.” He puts the bottle down in the kitchen and goes back to you, shoving you against the wall despite the small protest you let out. “No no, correction.” And he smiles, bombarding your face with the alcohol breath and you think of a sharp purple as he laughs. “I’m gon’ fuck you.” He nods a bit and you let out a sigh, grabbing his wrists to get him off of you. “I’m gonna. Shove your pretty little face into the mattress and fuck you good. Leave so many marks on you that that. That fucker won’t want to lay his hands on you ever again.” That makes you pause in your efforts to remove him.

“What?”

“You heard me. I speak english as a third language.” He doesn’t know any language other than english, jesus how much did he drink? You look over to the bottle. Most of it, seems like a good guess.

“You’re not going to fuck me while you’re drunk, dude.” You finally say turning back to him and he puts on an extremely exaggerated pout, and then proceeds to tell you the exact number of days it’s been since he’s gotten to have his dick inside you, and you know that it has been that long but seriously he missed his opportunity to have you monogamously when you asked if you guys were a thing.

“Karkat I think you should drink some water and go to sleep.”

“It’s only like two in the afternoon I don’t have to listen to you, you’re not my real mom.” You manage to wrestle his hands off your shoulders, holding them as you pull him toward his room. You get to the bed when he grabs you, pulls you on top of him and you’re not at all surprised by the feeling of teeth on your neck.

And you don’t want to, but it’s just so much easier to give in.

You let him shove you around the bed, pin you on your back and growl never ending sentences about how he’s going to fuck you, and fuck you wide open, and _fill you with so much of my cum it’s dripping out your mouth, and you’d fucking love it wouldn’t you? Do you want me to do that? Every time you moved you’d feel it in there, everywhere and you’d finally have a self-lubricating asshole for me to play with. I know you love it when you bleed but it’s so much easier like that isn’t it?_ and you let him have his way as he marks you with his teeth and nails and he scratches his name into your skin while he’s fucking you.

He goes at it for an hour, forcing you and himself through orgasm after orgasm until he seems to have finally had enough and he falls onto the bed next to you, shaking from aftershocks. You can’t bring your limbs to work and you stay, face buried in the sheets and ass in the air, while you try to will your body to move.

By the time you’re working again he’s asleep. You manage to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror to examine all the marks and they’re scary and dark and you’re bruised all over.

Honestly, you wouldn’t want to touch someone who liked like you do.

You look claimed, is the only way you can think to say it.

You limp to the shower and wash yourself off, standing under the hot stream for a while and contemplating your life choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow ew, sorry I'll try to get back to more frequent updates.
> 
> On another note; FANART  
> It's the drowning scene so it's nsfw, just a heads up.  
> http://lucifer-draws.tumblr.com/post/81520051436/so-a-certain-author-was-saying-they-hadnt-gotten
> 
> The artist told me that consensual drowning was one of the weirdest things they'd ever written.
> 
> Also y'know, if you draw shit, don't be afraid to tell me i love fanart.


	11. Fuck The Real World Just Fuck Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode brought to you by 28 hours on a train and Tainted by Celldweller

You're desperate to do literally the stupidest thing ever. Desperate to the point of not caring that none of Karkat's hickeys or bite marks are gone, and you're waiting for Bro to answer the fucking door so you can try to get this shit under your belt.

It's a really REALLY stupid idea.

But holy fuck; thinking about it turns you on so much you can hardly stand it.

Bro's not even wearing a shirt when he opens the door, and he looks at you with eyebrow quirked and questioning. “Isn't it a little early in the day for this?” He asks looking at his wrist despite there being no watch there. “You usually come a few hours later kid, where's the fire?”

“Well first of all, stop calling me kid. Second of all I can't really talk about this in a hallway where children could become present at any moment.” You nod toward the inside of the apartment and he gives this crooked smirk. He shakes his head a bit, and steps aside, letting you pass him and wait.

He closes the door with a soft sound, and he turns to you, arms crossed over his bare chest and you grin. “So what's your latest idea? Fascinate me.”

You open your mouth to tell Bro all about this amazing idea, but you hesitate. Your mouth shuts and you frown a bit. Because what if he doesn't like it? Very interesting case of stage fright you just developed, and you sigh a bit at yourself. “Well.” Hm.

“Spit it out kid, I'm probably down for it.”

“Right, uh.” So do you just... Say it? Ho do you even say it? “I wanna choke on your dick.” Yeah that sounds about right, short sweet, to the point, and it gets you a glorious eyebrow raise from the man in front of you and he actually looks a bit thrown off. Like he wasn't expecting that. “Literally.” You add, just in case it wasn't clear.

“Got a thing for asphyxiation, don't ya?” He asks with a short chuckle. You nod and he nods back at you. You notice the hint of a smile tugging at his lips and it makes you pause. You haven't really seen him smile, have you? You want to now that you think about it. “It's doable, sounds nice.” He nods a bit to himself, a look like he's thinking.

“Can we do it now?” You ask hopefully. He looks at you, and then looks around like he's thinking, or looking to see if there's any reason you cannot. You hope he doesn't find a reason to say no.

He shrugs, and takes a few steps closer, he puts his hands in his pockets and asks you 'How do you wanna do this?”

Well. You do know of one thing you want to do. You close the last step between you, and you push up onto the balls of your feet, pressing your lips to his carefully. He doesn't immediately reciprocate, and you're pretty sure you're going to get rejected after a moment of nothing, but just as you're pulling away his hand is on the back of your neck, pulling you back.

He doesn't waste time, and he's licking at your lips right away. Who are you to deny? You open easily for him and he shoves his tongue into your mouth. You rest your hands against his chest to keep your balance, and he sucks on your tongue, drawing out a soft moan. He bites your lips, and he runs his hands down your back, only giving your ass a teasing squeeze before his hands are moving back up.

He puts a hand on the back of your neck again, the other is on your hip, fingers just barely teasing the skin under your shirt. He digs in with his nails, and you moan softly again. You think you can feel him smirking, but you don't dare try to look, not when he's tongue-fucking your mouth like he is.

He guides you backwards a few steps, and you stumble just enough to break the kiss, the lip between Bro's teeth being tugged harshly from where it was trapped. Bro crushes his lips to your again before you can make a sound from the pleasure, and he backs you up a few more steps until you fall back onto the futon. He's climbing over you not a moment later and he goes for your neck.

He bites and sucks, leaving marks until he pulls the collar of your shirt down. Then he stops, and you don't want him to do that! You tilt your head up to look at him, or see what he's looking at.

He lets go, the collar of your shirt snapping back into place and he goes for the bottom hem of your shirt instead, pulling it up to look at you and oh, right that's probably what he's looking at. He places his hands on either side of your torso and he stares at the marks that Karkat left.

“Wh-what?” You stutter over the word, curse yourself mentally, and look over the marks. Honestly some of them look... Grotesque. It kind of looks like you shot by paint balls. And that's just the hickeys, there are so many other places where scratches from nails trail over skin and Bro is looking at you like you're disgusting for a moment.

“Who did that?” He finally asks, lifting a hand to trail his fingers over a line of scratches and you sit up a little on your elbows.

“My- er, well, you remember I told you about Karkat right? He did that. All of it...” Was Bro not going to fuck you anymore because of this? You hope not. You're not in a relationship with Karkat. Or Bro.

“Damn dude.” He chuckles. “Shit looks like it hurts.” You watch his face. It doesn't change much but there's a slight quirk. A little twitch of his lips that registers to you as a grimace being held back. You could be wrong, but by the looks of you right now, you're pretty sure you're right.

“Well it did. Not really anymore.” You tug your shirt back into place, and Bro doesn't pay it much mind.

“He like possessive or something?” He asks with a little smirk before it drops, he suddenly starts to look mad and your eyes widen. “You're not dating the guy, right?” He asks.

He thinks you're dating Karkat. You can't help it. You bark a laugh, laying back down and shaking your head. “Fuck no!” You say. “Dude just likes to fuck me, just like you.” You notice a twitch in his features, you think he rolled his eyes. You can't tell with the shades. “When I saw you the first time in the bar I asked him if we were a thing just to make sure before I started trying to work up the nerve to get your attention. He laughed at me. We just fuck sometimes.” Bro slowly nods.

He moves back up, kissing you again and grabbing one of your hands. He doesn't seem too phased by the Karkat thing, you think. Then he goes to your neck again, biting down hard on the skin and causing you to yelp in pain.

“Shit,” You hiss, as he guides your hand to his pants. You get the message, and immediately work on undoing them, bringing your other hand down to make the task easier. He's making a great effort to mark you up himself, and one particularly rough bite has you whining at him. He shoves his hands up your shirt and drags his nails down your chest, a lot lighter than Karkat had done, Bro isn't trying to break skin, just tease you, and it works.

He releases the skin of your neck from between his teeth as you fish his cock out of his jeans and find that he's already halfway hard. You intend to remedy this, and start to stroke him as one of his hands drops into your own pants.

You can already feel the second hickey is going to be huge when he breaks off to grunt and jerk his hips, thrusting into your hand. You really enjoy hearing him, wow. You tighten your grip on him, move your hand faster. His has slowed it's efforts to take care of you, but you don't even care when you draw a low moan from the man.

It's _music_ to hear that stoic bullshit fall away.

You press a bit on one of his shoulders once he's fully hard, and you get him to lay down without you having to say much. You lower yourself to take him into your mouth, and revel in the hiss he makes as you run your tongue over the skin. You suck and bob your head, gradually forcing yourself lower with each drop. You take pleasure in the sounds you get form him, garnering a long deep moan when you suck particularly hard.

Soon enough you think you're ready, and you look up to Bro.

You've never actually deepthroated before, so this would be a new experience.

Bro puts one hand on the back of your head, petting you for a bit as your bobbing slows. He tells you that if you want to stop to slap his leg three times. You nod a little bit, and put a hand over the one on the back of your head, pressing down a bit and hoping he gets the message.

He does, and he presses, you try to relax as he gets deeper into your mouth. Soon enough the head is pressing at the back and you gag, instinct tries to pull you off but Bro keeps his hand firmly on the back of your head, stopping you from backing up. He continues to push, and the final shove into your throat is painful, choking, and your air is cut off.

He holds you there, but he isn't fully seated. You put your hand over his again, press once more. He pushes you down that last glorious length and you would moan if you had the air or the ability to. Instead you choke Your throat tightens around him as you try to get air into your lungs to no avail.

Good fucking god you're so turned on.

Bro groans loudly, and you watch his head fall back. He keeps his hand on your head, fighting against that natural instinct of yours to pull away and get Bro out of your throat. You opt to use your hands for your own pleasure, shoving your pants down and taking your dick into your own hands, since Bro isn't in a place where he can do it for you. You stroke quickly and sloppily as Bro experiments with loosening his grip. You retreat, but not enough to get him out of your throat, before he shoves you back down.

He toys with this for a few more minutes as your lungs begin to ache from lack of air, and he eventually fists both of his hands into your hair, moving your head up and down. There's not much room to go back and forth, but he takes advantage of every millimeter as he fucks your throat.

You beat yourself off to the same rhythm, gagging on moans and Bro's dick, and getting quite the ruckus from him in return. He doesn't seem to be trying to keep quiet after a time, and you sincerely enjoy listening to him.

You feel his grip on your hair tighten as your head is starting to hurt, and he pulls you down hard. Your nose meets his pelvis as he spills down your throat, he groans loudly, cursing and gasping your name just once. That's your undoing, and you're cumming into your hand as everything starts to dull. But Bro doesn't pull you up, he doesn't give you the air, he holds you down even as you can feel him starting to get limp.

He grunts nonsense as your convulsing throat continues to work him over even as you're fading, he hasn't gone down too much by the time he's coming back up, gripping your hair with that same tightness as before and starting to roughly fuck your sore throat once more.

You black out soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deeply sorry, but now that I'm out of work for a bit I should be able to go back to regularly updating this as well as Through Thick and Thin!
> 
> And if I'm lucky.
> 
> Finishing at least one of them before work starts back up.
> 
> ((Preferably this one -coughcough-))


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